twilight life and death rewrite
by Beauandedwardforever
Summary: so I read life and death but was really disappointed so I wanted to redo it like boys can and do cry and stuff idk why she never had Beau cry and just fair warning the plot will be the same as the Canon but things get different around new moon just fair warning characters are different sometimes. Also this will be the whole saga I will update twice a day
1. preface/first sight

Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality

-Emily Dickinson

Preface

I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and she looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as she sauntered forward to kill me.

1\. First Sight

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. Though it was January everywhere else, it was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix and the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite tank top; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. I wouldn't be needing tank tops anymore.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this insignificant town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its depressing gloom that my mom escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been forced to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

Yet, somehow, I now found myself exiled back to Forks for the rest of my high school education. A year and a half. Eighteen months.

Of course, this was my choice. It was a self-imposed exile, but that didn't make it any easier.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the dry heat and the big, sprawling city.

"Beau," my mom said to me—the last of a thousand times—before I boarded the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mother and I look so much alike; the same shaped face, the same nose, the same pale gray eyes. No one would doubt we're mother and son. I felt an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes that were so like mine. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Was leaving my mom the right thing to do? It seemed like it was, during the months I'd struggled toward this decision. But now, in this moment, it felt all kinds of wrong.

Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"Iwantto go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want—I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I walked through the gate, got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a three-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a smaller plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been pretty decent about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it would be awkward. Neither of us was what anyone would call outgoing, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision— like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my disdain for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen, just an inevitability. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was also expecting. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on the top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

I stumbled off the plane into Charlie's awkward, one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you, Beau," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?

"Mom's great. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't supposed to call him Charlie to his face.

I only had a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it still wasn't much. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap." he announced when we were strapped into the cruiser and on our way.

"What kind of car?" I asked, suspicious of the way he said "good carfor you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Bonnie Black down at La Push?" La Push is the small Native American reservation on the nearby coastline.

"Not really, sorry."

"She and her husband used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember her. I do a good job of blocking painful things from my memory.

"She's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so she can't drive anymore, and she offered to sell me the truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from the change in his expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Bonnie's son has done a lot of work on the engine— it's only a few years old, really."

Did he really think I would give up that easily?

"When did she buy it?"

"She bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did she buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties— or late fifties at the earliest," He admitted sheepishly.

"Ch— Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic..."

"Really, Beau, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing,I thought to myself…it had possibilities—as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie glanced sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie had never been comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's amazing, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth—or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green—an alien planet.

Eventually, we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new—well, new to me—truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab.

And I loved it. I wasn't really a car guy, so I was kind of surprised by my own reaction. I mean, I didn't even know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron monsters that never gets damaged—the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" I was genuinely enthused about the truck. Not only was it perfect, now I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the faded blue-and-white checkered curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie, but I'd had to share with my mom before, and she had a lot more stuff. This would be fine.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, which would have been altogether impossible for my mom. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look comfortable; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to come to terms with how quickly everything had just changed, and when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had just three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids there had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new kid from the big city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Maybe if I had been one of the cool kids—had a little more confidence in myself—I could work this to my advantage. But I certainly wasn'tthatguy. I was always different from the other guys in my school. I wasn't the football star, not the class president, not the bad boy on the motorcycle. I was the kid who got shoved into lockers until his sophomore year. The kid who was too quiet, and too pale, who didn't know anything about sports or cars or anything I wassupposedto be into.

Despite the constant sunshine of Phoenix, I was still ivory-skinned and I had always been on the leaner side, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself—and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror as I ran my hands through my damp, dark hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked paler, if that was possible.

Facing my glum reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I had managed to calm myself down. The constantwhooshing of the rain and the wind across the roof wouldn't fade in the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined the small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining modestly sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at—the bad haircuts, the acne that had finally cleared up. Maybe I could get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable and a little sad.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket—thick, non-breathing plastic, like a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around in the air.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Bonnie or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a bonus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult; like most other things, it was just off the highway. It wasn't totally obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High School, clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered sarcastically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door readingFRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired man wearing glasses. He was wearing a t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed for the weather.

The red-haired man looked up."Can I help you?"

"I'm Beau Swan," I informed him, and saw the immediate awareness light his eyes. I was expected, already the subject of gossip. Son of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," he said. He dug through a precariously stacked pile of papers on his desk till he found the ones he was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, Beaufort, and a map of the school." He brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

"Um, it's Beau, please."

"Oh, sure, Beau."

He went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. He smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath.It won't be that bad, I lied to myself. This wasn't life or death—just high school. It's not like anyone was going to bite me.

I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.I pulled my hood down over my face as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with other students. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt a knot begin to form in my stomach as I approached the door. I took a deep breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name—not an encouraging response—and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed.

I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a pale, skinny girl with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?" She gave off the vibe of the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Beau," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" she asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way..." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Erica," she added.

I managed a smile. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" she asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" she wondered.

"Sunny," I told her.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

She studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Erica followed me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," she said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." She sounded hopeful.

I smiled at her vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have disliked anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each room. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

In every class, the teacher started out calling me Beaufort, and though I corrected them immediately, it was frustrating. It had taken me years to live down Beaufort—my mom thought it sounded regal. I comforted myself with the knowledge that she chose Beaufort over Beauregard, her second choice. No one at home even remembered that Beau was just a nickname anymore. Now I had to start all over again.

One boy sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and he walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. He was short, several inches shorter than my five feet seven inches, with short, straight, light-brown hair. His bubbling, energetic personality almost seemed to make up the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember his name, so I smiled and nodded as he rattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of his friends, who he introduced to me—couldn't complain about the manners here. Overwhelmed by the rush of new information, I forgot all their names as soon as he said them. They seemed impressed by his bravery in speaking to me. The girl from English, Erica, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike.

There were three girls; one was big— muscled like a serious weight lifter, at least six-five or taller, with dark, curly hair. The one sitting next to her was a boy but he was only slightly shorter, but still well-muscled—clearly the school's star-athlete. And the prom king. His long gold hair was wound into a bun on the back of his head. The third one was also a girl almost as tall as the first, curvy , but still slimmer than the big one, with honey colored hair. There was something intense about her, edgy. The last was curvy, but less slimmer, with long untidy, bronze-colored hair. She was more girlish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The other boy was the complete opposite. He was short and pixie-like, thin in the extreme, with small features. His hair was a deep black, cropped short and looked like a buzz on his head it was like he had fallen right out of the twenties.

Totally different, and yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes—from here they looked black—despite the range in hair tones. There were deep shadows under their eyes— purple shadows, like bruises. Maybe they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from broken noses. Except that their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful— maybe the blond prom king, or the bronze-haired girl. I mean, all of them were gorgeous, but the girl with the bronze hair was something more than just beautiful. She was absolutely perfect. It was an upsetting, disturbing kind of perfection. It made my stomach uneasy.

They were all looking away; away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. It reminded me of models posed artistically for an add—aesthetic ennui.

As I watched, the skinheaded boy rose with his tray— unopened soda, untouched apple— and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at his lithe dancer's step, till he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who arethey?" I asked the boy from my Spanish class, whose name I still couldn't remember.

As he looked up to see who I meant—though he could probably guess from my tone—suddenly she looked at him, the slimmer, girlish one, the youngest, perhaps. She looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine.

She looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, her face wasn't interested at all—it was as if he had called her name, and she'd looked up in an involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor laughed in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edith and Eleanor Cullen, and Royal and Jessamine Hale. The one who left was Archie Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and her husband." He said this under his breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful girl, who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt she was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here—small-town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jeremy, a totally normal name. There were two boys named Jeremy in my History class back home.

"They all are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" Jeremy agreed with another laugh. "They're all together though—Jessamine and Archie, I mean. There's even a suspicion that Eleanor and Royal are like, a thing. And they live together." His voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related… well, I mean, sort of…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in her twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales—the blondes—arebrother and sister, fraternal twins, I think, and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jessamine and Royal are both eighteen, but they've been with Mr. Cullen since they were eight. He's their uncle or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice— for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jeremy admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that he didn't like the doctor and her husband for some reason. With the glances he was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Dr. Cullen can't have any kids, though," he added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No. They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullen girls, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in her expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that her glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the girl with the long reddish-brown hair?" I asked. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today—she had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

"That's Edith. She's hot, sure, but don't waste your time. She doesn't date. Apparently none of the boys here are good-looking enough for her." He sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when she'd turned him down.

I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at her again. Her face was turned away, but I thought from the shape of her cheek that she might be smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful— even the big, sports star one and the golden prom king. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edith didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jeremy and his friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that his name was Allen, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. He was shy like me.

When we entered the classroom, Allen went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. He already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edith Cullen by her unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

My heart started pounding a little faster than usual.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her surreptitiously. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. She stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on her face— it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I had been right about her eyes. They were black— coal black.

Mrs. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit byher, bewildered by the antagonistic stare she'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I tugged at my shirt at gave it a sniff. It smelled like laundry detergent. How could that be offensive? I scooted my chair to the right, giving her as much space as I could, and nervously ran my fingers through my hair.

I leaned forward, resting my head in my hand, using it to block my face from her. I angled myself away, too, for good measure. I tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from glancing occasionally at the strange girl next to me. During the whole class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see her hand on her left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under her pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the sleeves of her white Henley pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath her pale skin. She wasn't nearly as slight as she'd looked next to her burly brothers or sports start sister.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the rest. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn't breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this her normal behavior? I questioned my quick judgment on Jeremy's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe he was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. She didn't know me from Adam. The teacher passed me a paper to give to the girl. I glanced at the top and realized I'd been spelling her name wrong in my head. It was Edythe not Edith. I'd never seen it spelled that way but it fit her better.

I peeked down at her one more time and regretted it. She was glaring up at me again, her black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from her, shrinking against my chair, the phraseif looks could killsuddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edythe Cullen was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose— she was much shorter than I'd thought— her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so unnecessarily rude. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the confusion and anger that filled me. I felt tight knots in my stomach. I hadn't done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn't actually even met her.

"Aren't you Beaufort Swan?" a female voice asked. I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her pale blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, smiling at me in a friendly way. She obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Beau," I corrected her, with a smile.

"I'm Makayla."

"Hi, Makayla."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." She seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; she was a chatterer— she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. She'd lived in California till she was ten, so she knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out she was in my English class also. She was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, she asked, "So, did you stab Edythe Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen her act like that."

I cringed. So Iwasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edythe Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?"

"Yeah," she said. "She looked like she was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to her."

"She's a weird girl." Makayla lingered by me instead of heading straight into the girls locker room. "If I were sitting by you, I would have talked to you." She started blushing, "You seem cool!" She added quickly.

I smiled at her and she quickly walked through the locker room door, I followed slightly bemused. She was friendly and possibly liked me. But it wasn't enough to make me forget the last hour.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained— and inflicted— playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I zipped my jacket up and shoved my free hand into a pocket.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edythe Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that long tousled wavy bronze hair. She didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with him in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time— any other time.

This couldnotbe about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, waving through my hair. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edythe Cullen's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me—her face was absurdly beautiful—with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuinefear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. She turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," she said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And she turned on her heel without another look at me and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed him the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, son?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice cracking. I could see I hadn't convinced him.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this wet, green hell. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, grappling with the knots in my stomach till I was fighting tears.


	2. open book

The next day was better… and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Makayla came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Erica glaring at her all the while; which was kind of odd. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Makayla, Erica, Jeremy, and several other people whose names and faces I was starting to remember. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I somehow managed to hit two of my teammates in the head with it. And it was worse because Edythe Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing her bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying awake in bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jeremy— trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her and failing entirely— I saw that her four adopted siblings were sitting together at the same table, and she was not with them.

Makayla intercepted us and steered us to her table. Jeremy seemed elated by the attention, and his friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment Edythe Cullen would arrive. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came and prove that I was just making a big deal out of nothing.

She didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. Makayla, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edythe Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Makayla followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces. I was starting to think I would have to do something about Makayla; I wasn't entirely sure if her attention was just an overly eager friendliness or something else.

In a small town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I didn't tend to make a big deal of who I found attractive. It was just easier that way. Besides, it hadn't really mattered up to now. No one really paid attention to me in Phoenix, anyway.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edythe was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that much. It was impossible. But I couldn't stop worrying about it.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I showered and changed quickly back into my jeans and navy-blue sweater. I hurried from the boys' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I hurried out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I had what I needed.

Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course.

I hadn't noticed their clothes before— I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn't really believe that. The isolation must had to be something they chose; I couldn't imagine any door their beauty wouldn't open for them.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren't like anyone else. I saw the big burly girl—Eleanour—had her hand casually on the golden prom king's hip. Despite their obvious confidence, I couldn't help but feel surprised that she would do that in a small town like Forks. Looked like the rumors Jeremy mentioned were true. They all really were dating. The edgy blond girl caught me looking, and the way she narrowed her eyes made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn't go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar task. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my backpack upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, ran my fingers through my damp brown hair, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.

"Beau," my mom wrote.

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

"Beau," she wrote…

Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

The last was from this morning.

Beaufort Michael, If I haven't heard from you by 5: 30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

Mom,

Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.

Beau.

I sent that, and began again.

Mom,

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch.

Your blouse is at the dry cleaners— you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.

I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Beau.

I had decided to readWuthering Heights— the novel we were currently studying in English— yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Charlie came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Beau?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else?I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mom was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, then set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Beau."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with a boy named Jeremy. I sit with his friends at lunch. And there's this girl, Makayla, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Makayla Newton. Nice kid— nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great woman."

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have her— lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature— I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should— camping trips every other weekend.… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing she's happily married. A lot of the staff at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand— no dishwasher— I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the others on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

Edythe Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in a few weeks that Makayla was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edythe would be there. For all I knew, she had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library on Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and winced at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn't raining. In English, Makayla took her accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz onWuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Makayla said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.

She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes— you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Makayla laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Erica, who was walking away, her back toward us— in the wrong direction for her next class. Makayla apparently had the same notion. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

She just nodded, her eyes on Erica's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain— until it melted in your socks.

I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jeremy after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jeremy thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.

Makayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting in her rapidly curling hair. She and Jeremy were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Jeremy pulled on my arm.

"Hello? Beau? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Beau?" Makayla asked Jeremy.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jeremy asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Makayla make a concerned face, Jeremy discretely shuffled a few steps away from me.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Makayla asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if Ishouldplay it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was i freaking out? I was just being glared at. It wasn't like Edythe Cullen was going to stab me with a knife.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If she was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.

I kept my head down and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Edythe, Jessamine, and Eleanour all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Archie and Royal were leaning away as Eleanor shook her dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else— only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edythe the most carefully. Her skin was less pale, I decided— flushed from the snow fight maybe— the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Beau, what are you staring at?" Jeremy intruded, his eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, her eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I quickly turned my head completely towards Jeremy, shifting my shoulders in his direction, too. Jeremy leaned back, surprised by my sudden movement.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that she didn't look harsh or unfriendly as she had the last time I'd seen her. She looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"wow Edythe Cullen is staring at you," Jeremy said in my ear.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," he said, sounding confused by my question. "what did you do ask her out?"

"no of course not i mean I don't think she likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I felt like she was staring at me.

"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," I insisted.

He snickered, but he looked away.

Makayla interrupted us then— she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jeremy agreed enthusiastically. The way he looked at Makayla left little doubt that he would be up for anything she suggested, I wondered if Makayla would notice his enthusiasm. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since she didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. I started feeling knots in my stomach at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Makayla as usual— she seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers— but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Makayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her long hair was dripping wet, disheveled— even so, she looked like she'd just finished shooting a commercial. Her dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full flawless lips. But her eyes were careful.

"My name is Edythe Cullen," she continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.

She laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

She seemed confused. "Do you prefer Beaufort?"

"No, I like Beau," I said. "But I think Charlie— I mean my dad— must call me Beaufort behind my back— that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

"Oh." She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," she commanded.

"After you, partner?" Edythe asked. I looked down to see her smiling a dimpled smile so beautiful that I could only stare at her like an idiot.

She raised her eyebrows. "Or I could start, if you wish.

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead." I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" she asked as I began to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she asked. Her fingers were ice cold, like she'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling her hand back immediately. However, she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, still staggered, as she examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

"Prophase," she agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. She swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphase," she murmured, writing it down as she spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. "Mind if I look?"

She smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, she was right.

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at her.

She handed it to me; it seemed like she was being careful not to touch my skin again. I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Interphase." I passed her the microscope before she could ask for it. She took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while she looked, but her clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Makayla and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at her… unsuccessfully. I glanced down, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in her face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. She seemed puzzled by my unexpected question.

"No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

She shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of her eyes the last time she'd glared at me— the color was striking against the background of her pale skin and her auburn hair. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn't understand how that could be, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mrs. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Edythe, didn't you think Beaufort should get a chance with the microscope?" Mrs. Banner asked.

"Beau," Edythe corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

Mrs. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" she asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," she said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She mumbled something else as she walked away. After she left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edythe asked. I had the feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like she had heard my conversation with Jeremy at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I really was becoming paranoid.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

She looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that— not straight out like she did, demanding.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," she pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," she disagreed, but she was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"And you don't like him," Edythe surmised, her tone still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't understand her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" she asked, smiling her dimpled smile in response.

"Probably not. He doesn't playwell. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." She said it as an assumption again, not a question.

I straightened my shoulders automatically. "No, she didn't send me here. I sent myself."

Her eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," she admitted, and she seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," she pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense.

I laughed once. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe Ihaveheard that somewhere before," she agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.

Her gaze became appraising, she tilted her head slightly to the side.

"You put on a good show," she said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I shrugged.

"Am I wrong?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I don't entirely understand you, that's all." she raised an eyebrow at me.

"Why would you want to?" I asked, frowning.

"That's a very good question," she muttered, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself.

However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, staring at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" she asked. She sounded amused.

I glanced at her without thinking… and told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read— my mother always calls me her open book." I shrugged.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and she'd guessed, she sounded like she meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." She smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultra-white teeth and her dimples.

Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my ordinary life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who may or may not despise me. She'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mrs. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were far away from the lecture.

When the bell finally rang, Edythe rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging slightly open.

Makayla rushed to my table almost as quickly. I imagined her with a wagging tail.

"That was awful," she groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by her assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before she could get her feelings hurt.

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," she commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn't seem pleased about it.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with her last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Makayla's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Makayla was on my team today. She helpfully covered my position as well as her own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and ran my fingers through my damp hair.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. Edythe Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I could swear I saw her laughing.

**i know it's similar to the book but be patient guys. by the way before anyone asks im actually typing it out not copy and pasting. ty **


	3. phenomenon

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid— coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edythe Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding her after everything. Her death glares were still fresh in my memory, despite her random questioning yesterday I still felt like she didn't like me much. And I was suspicious of her; why should she lie about her eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from her, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured her perfect face. I didn't know why I cared, as far as I knew she didn't care much for me. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see her today.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive.

I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be a struggle.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edythe Cullen by thinking about Makayla and Erica, and the obvious difference in how my fellow teenagers responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. I had gotten attention from a few girls back in Phoenix, but I had gently made it clear that I liked guys more even tho i am bisexual. I had definitely never gotten any attention from any boys, even though I was sure there were boys in my old school whocould have been interested. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly my clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than laughable. Whatever the reason, Makayla's puppy dog behavior and Erica's apparent rivalry with her were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck— carefully holding the side for support— to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. I probably should have been the one to think about putting chains on the tires, if I could figure out how to do that. I appreciated that Charlie knew I couldn't do it myself. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Edythe Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with meagain.

A low oath made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting exactly into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag dolls, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt— exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edythe Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Beau? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized she was holding me against the side of her body in an iron grasp.

"Be careful," she warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." Her voice, amazingly, sounded like she was suppressing laughter.

"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Beau," she said, her tone serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time she let me, releasing her hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of her gold-colored eyes.

What was I asking her?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Taylor out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edythe's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

Her expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

She stared at me, and something strange happened. It was like the gold of her eyes intensified, like her eyes were drugging me, hypnotizing me. It was devastating in a weird, exciting way. But her expression was anxious. I felt like she trying to communicate something crucial.

"No… but," my voice faltered. "That's not what happened." I set my jaw, regaining my resolve.

The gold in her eyes blazed. "Please, Beau."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Trust me," she pleaded, her soft voice overwhelming.

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," she snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," I repeated, unable to process her mood swings with everything else that was happening. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered happening was impossible?

It took six EMTs and two teachers— Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp— to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edythe insisted she hadn't been touched, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of embarrassment when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edythe got to ride in the front. It was all a hundred times worse than I'd imagine today would be, and I hadn't even made it to the sidewalk.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Beau!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Char— Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head—images that were not possible. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper— a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Edythe's shoulders… as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame.…

And then there was her family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their sister's safety.

I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air… that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground… Edythe's hand under the frame of the van, like she was holding the van off the ground…

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen. All I could come up with was that I was having some kind of psychotic episode. I didn'tfeel crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edythe simply glided through the hospital doors of her own accord.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Taylor Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head. Taylor looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me.

"Beau, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Taylor— you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek.

She ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" She winced as one nurse started dabbing at her face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm… Edythe shoved me out of the way."

She looked confused. "Who?"

"Edythe Cullen— she was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar; I didn't sound convincing at all.

"Cullen? I didn't see her… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"

"I think so. She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Taylor's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her I was fine, she continued to torment herself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored her. She kept up a remorseful mumbling.

"Is he sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Edythe was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at her. It wasn't easy— it would have been more natural to ogle.

"Hey, Edythe, I'm really sorry—" Taylor began.

Edythe lifted a hand to stop her.

"No blood, no foul," she said, flashing her brilliant teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Taylor's bed, facing me. She smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," I sighed. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. She was young, she was blond… and she was more beautiful than any movie star I'd ever seen. She looked something like a young kate winslet combined with Marilyn Monroe and dolly parton. She was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under her eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edythe's mother.

"So, Mister Swan," Dr. Cullen said in a gently appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

She walked to the light-board on the wall over my head and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," she said. "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, narrowing my eyes at Edythe, who conspicuously looked away.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. She noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" she asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a chuckle and looked over to see Edythe smiling.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room— you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to be attentive.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Edythe. "Doesshe get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edythe said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," I moaned.

Dr. Cullen raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly— I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. She looked concerned.

"I'm fine," I assured her again. No need to tell her my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," she suggested as she steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as she signed my chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Edythe happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of her. Then she looked away, at Taylor, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid thatyou'llhave to stay with us just a little bit longer," she said to Taylor, and began checking her cuts.

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edythe's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I whispered under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," she said through her teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Taylor.

"I'd like to speak with you alone, if you don't mind," I pressed.

She glared, and then turned her back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me.

"What do you want?" she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold.

Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her.

"I saved your life— I don't owe you anything."

I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "You promised. Why are you acting like this?"

"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Her tone was cutting.

Her attitude infuriated me, and I glared defiantly at her. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

She glared back. "What do you want from me, Beau?"

"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do youthinkhappened?" she snapped.

It was harder to say the words out loud, where I could hear how crazy it sounded. It shook my conviction, but I tried to keep my voice even and calm.

"What I know is that you weren't anywhere near me—Taylor didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both—and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it—and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all—and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up.…" It just kept sounding worse and worse. I couldn't continue. I was so frustrated I could feel tears forming in my eyes; I took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

She was staring at me incredulously. But her face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" Her tone questioned my sanity, but there was something off. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actress.

I merely nodded once; jaw tight.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." Her voice held an edge of derision now.

"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my emotions.

Surprise flitted across her face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I said. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I said, and then I folded my arms. Waiting.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by her livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"If you were going to be like this about it," I said frigidly, "Why did you even bother?"

She paused, and for a brief moment her stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," she whispered.

And then she turned her back on me and walked away.

I was so angry; it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him quietly. I was still upset by the whole situation.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Cullen saw me, and she said I was fine, and I could go home." I sighed. Makayla and Jeremy and Erica were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief—the first time I'd ever felt that way—to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edythe's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd witnessed.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um… you'll need to call Renée." He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. "You toldMom!"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home—forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment—but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Edythe presented. And more than a little obsessed by Edythe herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed of Edythe Cullen.


	4. invitations

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edythe's skin. I couldn't see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Taylor Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince her what I wanted more than anything else was for her to forget all about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but she remained insistent. She followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Makayla and Erica didn't seem to like that; they flashed more side-eye at her than they did at each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Edythe, though I explained over and over that she was the hero—how she had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jeremy, Makayla, Erica, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen her there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen her standing so far away, before she was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause—no one else was as aware of Edythe as I always was. No one else watched her the way I did. How pitiful.

Edythe was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for her firsthand account. People avoided her as usual. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Edythe, glanced my way anymore.

When she sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, she seemed totally unaware of my presence. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over the bones—did I wonder if she wasn't quite as oblivious as she appeared.

I wanted very much to talk to her, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen her, outside the ER, we'd both been so agitated. I still was angry that she wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But she had in fact saved my life, no matter how she'd done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded and I began to realize that I hadn't really thanked her properly.

She was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting her to turn toward me. She showed no sign that she realized I was there.

"Hello, Edythe," I said pleasantly, to show her I wasn't upset anymore.

She turned her head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way.

And that was the last contact I'd had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself—from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. Then abruptly they were honey-colored again. And the slow progression continued. But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

I tried to figure out her attitude and I kept coming back to the same thought; she wished she hadn't pushed me out of the way of Taylor's van. She said herself that day that she didn't know why she had saved me. The thought ate away at me.

Despite my outright lies, the tone of my e-mails alerted Renée to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Makayla, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I mused that she'd been worried that Edythe's daring rescue might have made us best buddies, and she was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. She grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edythe as completely as she ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Makayla was disappointed she'd never gotten to stage her snowball fight but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Jeremy made me aware of another event looming on the horizon—he called the first Tuesday of March to talk to me about the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks.

"So, just to be clear… you weren't planning on her asking you… right?" he asked carefully. "Because, I mean, you guys hang out a lot, but I assumed…" his voice trailed off.

"I wasn't planning on excepting Makaylas invitation if she does ask, Jeremy." I was somewhat surprised he thought there was the possibility that I would want her to ask me.

"I always figured you were…" he stopped short to rethink his phrasing, "I mean when I first met you I guessed… uh, that i figured you played for both teams but I'm not your type?"Not that I'm bi or gay dude but you're my bro i Don't want you dateless man he said it so delicately, like he was afraid of offending me.

There was a silence for a moment and then we both laughed.

"You're right. You're not my type, Jeremy." I couldn't help but smile. "But thanks for thinking of me."

"If you need help finding a date…" I think he realized he didn't have a solid idea of who I could even go with, "I'm sure we could find someone!" he said hopefully.

"No, Jeremy, I'm not going," I assured him. Dancing was glaringly outside my range of abilities.

"It will be really fun." His attempt to convince me sounded more sympathetic than anything, like the thought of me being there without a date would be awful but he didn't want me to feel bad. Then again maybe those were just my own feelings.

"Who are you hoping will ask you?" I tried to change the subject.

"Well, I was thinking of having Makayla ask me." I could tell he was smiling widely.

"Makayla Newton?" Uh oh. I still hadn't determined if Makayla constantly following me around was just her being overly friendly or something more.

"Yeah! She's just so hot," he was clearly excited, "She hangs out with you a lot, what do you think?"

I didn't want to say that I thought Makayla might not be interested him in the same way she was interested in me. But if i could get one admirer off my back it was a chance.

"You have fun with Makayla," I encouraged.

The next day, I was surprised that Jeremy wasn't his usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. He was silent as he walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask him why. If Makayla had turned him down, it meant I was right, but I hoped I was wrong for Jeremy's sake.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jeremy sat as far from Makayla as possible, chatting animatedly with Taylor. Makayla was unusually quiet.

Makayla was still quiet as she walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on her face a bad sign. But she didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and she was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Edythe sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if she were merely an invention of my imagination.

"So," Makayla said, looking at the floor, "Jeremy asked me to ask him to the spring dance."

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Jeremy."

"Well…" She floundered as she examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "I told him I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved she hadn't given him an absolute no.

Her face was bright red as she looked down again. I began to feel nervous.

"I was wondering if… well, I was thinking maybe i could… you know… You and me could… go." If it was possible, her face got even redder. "Like, me ask you to the dance."

I paused for a moment, feeling horribly awkward. I hoped my face didn't betray how I felt. From the corner of my eye, I saw Edythe's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Makayla, I think you should ask him," was all I could think to say.

"Did someone already ask you to go?" Did Edythe notice how Makayla's eyes flickered in her direction?

"No," I assured her. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" Makayla demanded.

I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway—it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

"Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Jeremy wait any longer—it's rude."

"Yeah, you're right," she mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to her seat.

I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. What a mess, even though Makayla liked me and i was so focused on Edythe. I couldn't help but feel bad. Not just for her, but for Jeremy, too, who clearly liked her. Mrs. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Edythe was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in her black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look quickly away. But instead she continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes, like she was trying to find something very important inside them. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.

"Ms. Cullen?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Edythe answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mrs. Banner.

I looked down at my book as soon as her eyes released me, trying to find my place. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me— just because she'd happened to look at me for the first time in six weeks. I couldn't allow her to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to her to gather my things, expecting her to leave immediately as usual.

"Beau?"

Her voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned slowly toward her, not wanting to feel what I knew Iwould feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. I'm sure my expression was guarded; hers was unreadable.

She didn't say anything.

"Yes?" I asked.

She just looked at me.

"So are you or are you not speaking to me again?" I finally asked with an unintended but slightly petulant tone to my voice.

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile.

"No, not really," she admitted.

"Okay." I closed my eyes and sighed. She waited.

"Then what do you want, Edythe?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to her coherently that way.

"I'm sorry." She sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I opened my eyes. Her face was very serious.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice hesitant.

"It's better if we're not friends," she explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. I'd heardthatbefore.

She seemed surprised by my reaction.

"What are you thinking?" She asked, her voice seemed softer but I could see frustration in her face.

"I guess… It's just too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I sighed, again. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?" My answer seemed to have caught her off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not just letting Taylor's van crush me."

She looked completely shocked. She stared at me in disbelief for a moment and when she finally spoke she almost sounded mad.

"You think I regret saving your life?" the words were quiet, but intense.

"I can tell that you do," I was exhausted by her mood swings, "I just don't know why."

"You don't know anything." She was definitely mad.

I had reached my limit. Her mood swings were too much for me to deal with today. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I needed to be out of the room—make a point with a dramatic exit—but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the doorjamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. She was there; she'd already stacked them into a pile. She handed them to me, her face hard.

"Thank you," I mumbled.

"You're welcome," she answered. She still sounded mad, but there was something else in her voice that I couldn't quite identify.

I straightened up swiftly and hurried off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edythe. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but she kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I couldn't wait to be back inside my truck, alone. The truck was in decent shape after the accident, all things considered. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if the paint job wasn't already hopeless, I would have touched up the new scrapes. Taylor's parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I quickly realized it was just Erica. I started walking again.

"Hey, Erica," I called.

"Hi, Beau."

"What's up?" I said as I fumbled with my keys. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in her voice, so her next words took me by surprise.

"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?"

"I'm… I'm not going to the dance, Erica." I said, too startled to be diplomatic.

I had to turn and look at her then. Her face was down, her black hair hiding her eyes.

"Oh, okay."

I recovered my composure and tried to make her feel better. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

"Oh," she said. "Well, maybe next time."

"Sure," I said without thinking. I didn't want to encourage her to pursue the impossible.

"See ya," She waved over her shoulder as she hurried off before I could set things straight.

I heard a low chuckle.

Edythe was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her lips pressed together. I jerked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it a little too hard behind me. I revved the deafening engine and reversed out into the aisle. Edythe was in her car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there— to wait for her family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of her shiny Volvo as revenge for her ridiculous mood swings, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Taylor Crowley was in her recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to acknowledge her.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Taylor. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. Her car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

"I'm sorry, Taylor, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I gestured to the Volvo. Obviously there was nothing I could do.

"Oh, I know— I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." She grinned.

I sighed, "Oh? What?"

"Will you go with me to the spring dance?" she continued.

What was going on in this school? I knew for a fact that Taylor had a reputation for being a flirt with the jocks. Unlike Makayla, I knew for certain she wasn't interested in nerdy boys as she put it.

"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor." My face was red. I could tell.

"Yeah, Makayla said that," she grinned.

"Then why—"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

"I wasn't." I was having trouble hiding my frustration, "besides, wouldn't you rather go with a jock you Know popular boy?"

"Usually, but I thought maybe you'd like to have someone to go with as a date instead of going alone." Her self-assured cockiness would normally charm me in different circumstances, but today it just added to my annoyance.

"Sorry, Taylor," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

And before I could respond, she was walking back to her car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Archie, Royal, Eleanor, and Jessamine all sliding into the Volvo. In her rearview mirror, Edythe's eyes were on me. She was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if she'd heard every word Taylor had said. I revved the engine, wondering how much damage it would do to the Volvo and the black car beside it if I just muscled my way through and made my escape. I was pretty sure my truck could win that fight.

But they were all in, and Edythe was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, and thoroughly confused. Was Makayla going to ask Jeremy to the dance? Would he blame me if she didn't? Was Taylor serious about taking me to the dance? Or prom? At least fretting over all this drama kept my mind off Edythe.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.

It was Jeremy, and he was jubilant; Makayla had caught him after school to ask him to the dance. I celebrated with him briefly while I stirred. Maybe Makayla liked Jeremy after all. He had to go; he wanted to call Allen and Logan to tell them. I suggested—with casual innocence—that Logan, a reserved, intelligent boy who had rarely spoke to me at the lunch table, could go with Taylor; I'd heard she was still available. Jeremy thought that was a great idea. He still sincerely wished I would go to the dance. I gave him my Seattle excuse.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner—dicing the chicken carefully; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edythe had spoken today. What did she mean when she said it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach twisted in knots as I realized what she must have meant. She must see how absorbed I was by her; she must not want to lead me on… so we couldn't even be friends… because she wasn't interested in me at all.

Of course she wasn't interested in me, I thought dejectedly, my eyes stinging—a delayed reaction to the onions. Besides, a girl like her deserves a classy boy, I wasn't interesting. And she was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

Well, that was fine. I could leave her alone. Iwouldleave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. My mom was famous for her disastrous Mexican food. But he was still game to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Beau?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday… if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited—and maybe look at some better winter clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't cost me quite a bit in the gas department.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to."

"Are you going all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he fretted.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I wondered if he was really that worried about me, or if he just thought all the Saturdays he'd left me alone were starting to add up to neglect. He was probably worried. I was sure that, in his head, he still pictured me as five-year-old most of the time.

"That's okay, dad. It probably won't be that exciting, anyway."

"Okay, Beau."

"Thanks." I smiled at him.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

I just stared back at him until he got it.

It didn't take him long. "Oh, that's right," he realized.

"Yeah." I laughed. I didn't get my balance issues from my mom.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to see her. I wanted to keep my distance, to not notice her anymore.

Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edythe Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

"How do you do that?" I gasped.

"Do what?" She held my key out as she spoke. As I reached for it, she dropped it into my palm.

"Appear out of thin air."

"Beau, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." Her voice was quiet as usual—velvet, muted. Her lips were holding back a smile, like she thought I was hilarious.

I glared at her perfect face. How was I supposed to ignore her if she kept talking to me? Wasn't she the one that said it would be better if we weren't friends? Her eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. I had to look away to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

"Why the traffic jam last night?" It was the only thing I could think to say. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."

"That was for Taylor's sake, not mine. I had to give her her chance." She snickered.

"What?" I asked, perplexed. Irritation started to grow in my mind; had she put Taylor up to asking me to the dance? That didn't seem likely. My confusion seemed to amuse her.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," she continued.

I met her eyes, trying to remain as focused as I could despite myself. "I don't know what you want from me," I told her.

Her amused expression quickly disappeared. Her face seemed guarded.

"Nothing." She said too quickly, almost like she was lying.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out. Easier that way."

She stared for a second. Her lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

"Beau, you are utterly absurd," she said, her low voice cold.

My stomach was in the tightest of knots. I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," she called.

I kept walking, sloshing through the rain and forcing myself not to look back. But she was next to me, easily keeping pace.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she said as we walked.

I ignored her.

"I'm not saying it isn't true," she continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," she chuckled. She seemed to have recovered her good humor.

I sighed, but I slowed down. "Fine, then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

"Are you trying to befunny?" I interrupted her, wheeling toward her. My face got drenched from the rain as I looked down at her expression.

Her eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

Walk away,I told myself.

I didn't move.

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"With who?" I asked, mystified.

"Myself, obviously." She enunciated every syllable, like she thought maybe English wasn't my first language.

I was still stunned. "Why?"

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." I started to walk again, hoping she wouldn't follow. She did.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" She matched my pace again.

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Edythe." I felt a thrill go through me as I said her name, and I didn't like it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thanks, now that'sallcleared up." I said, my voice rich with sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at her face. Which certainly didn't help my clarity of thought.

"It would be more…prudentfor you not to be my friend," she explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

Her eyes were gloriously intense as she uttered that last sentence, her voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Will you go with me to Seattle?" she asked, her voice still intense.

I couldn't speak yet, so I just nodded.

She smiled briefly, and then her face became serious.

"You reallyshouldstay away from me," she warned. "I'll see you in class."

She turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.


	5. blood type

**guys the Jacob thing was not a typo Jacob is still Jacob as you have seen from the other chapters my version of Beau is bisexual if that's not your thing this story is NOT for you**

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Makayla wasn't sitting in her usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But she and Erica both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Makayla seemed to become more herself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as she talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe her beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing her yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edythe had said, and the way her eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable. After all, what were the chances that she was that interesting, that attractive,and interested in me? It didn't seem likely.

I was both eager and nervous as Jeremy and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see her face, to see if she'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jeremy babbled on about his dance plans—taylor had asked Logen to the dance, and Allen had asked another girl I didn't know and they were all going together—completely unaware of how preoccupied I was. Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? Was she just going to disappear suddenly whenever something happened?

I followed the still-babbling Jeremy through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite—I bought bottle of lemonade, more for something to carry than to actually drink. I just wanted to go sit down. No. I wanted to go home, I wanted to go to sleep and wake up in a world where Edythe Cullen wasn't driving me crazy with her mood swings and her cryptic mutterings and her stupid, beautiful, perfect face.

"umm Edythe Cullen is staring at you again," Jeremy said, finally breaking through my abstraction with her name. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed his gaze to see Edythe, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Once she'd caught my eye, she raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared in disbelief, she winked.

"Does she mean you?" Jeremy asked with astonishment in his voice. I would have been insulted if I wasn't completely shocked myself.

"Maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," I muttered. "Um, I'd better go see what she wants."

I could feel him staring after me as I walked away. I could also feel my face turning red the closer I got to Edythe.

When I reached her table, I stood behind the chair across from her, unsure.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" she asked, smiling.

I sat down automatically, watching her with caution. She was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. Part of me was afraid that she might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up. Part of me wished she would.

She stared at me, smiling. She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"This is different," I finally managed.

"Well…" She paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I waited for her to explain this new cryptic statement, but she didn't.

The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.

"I know." She smiled again, and then she changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back. For once, it didn't bother me.

"I may not give you back, though," she said with a wicked glint in her eyes.

My breath caught in my throat.

She laughed.

"You look worried."

"No," I said, but my voice broke, tellingly. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"

"I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." She was still smiling, but her ocher eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." Her smile faded as she explained, and a hard edge crept into her velvet voice.

"You lost me again."

The breathtaking dimple smile reappeared. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.

"I'm counting on that."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn't awkward this time. It was more… charged. My face started to get hot again.

"So," I said, looking away so that I could catch my breath. "In plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…," she mused, dubious.

"Or not," I offered.

She grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind her smile, the warning was real.

"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden knots forming in my stomach and keep my voice even. I wasn't sure that I believed what she was saying, but I could tell that she believed it.

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

Then I had to smile, and I watched as her smile got bigger in response. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm… what was it?Absurd. I suppose… not smart isn't far behind."

She smiled apologetically.

"So, as long as I'm being absurdly unintelligent," She laughed at that, "we'll try to be friends?"

"That sounds about right." I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now, but feeling oddly satisfied. Still, it was so strange to sit with her here—like normal people. I was so sure only one of us was normal.

"What are you thinking?" she asked curiously.

I looked up into her deep soft gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

Her jaw tightened, but she kept her smile in place with some effort.

"Are you having any luck with that?" she asked in an offhand tone.

"Not too much," I admitted.

She chuckled. "What are your theories?"

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Clark Kent and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

"Won't you tell me?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile. I felt my throat go dry.

I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's really frustrating, you know," she complained.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows, "Like, someone refusing to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while she's making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean… frustrating like that?"

She frowned, but the pout of her lips was distractingly attractive.

"Or is it frustrating like, say, she's also done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised she would. Frustrating like that?"

Her frown twitched, but I thought I saw the hint of a guilty smile. "You're not over that, are you?"

"No, not quite."

"Would an apology help?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

She softly smiled, "I'm sorry I broke my promise."

It was a genuine apology and I didn't expect it. I felt a warmth course through my body.

"Th-thank you." I said softly, "It's still not an explanation."

She glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, she snickered.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." She snickered again.

"I don't have a girlfriend, and you're trying to change the subject."

She ignored the second half of my statement. "You might not think of her that way, but she wishes you did."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me."

"Yes. Except for you." Her mood shifted suddenly; her eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, distracted.

"No." My stomach was full of butterflies. There was no way I could eat now.

"You?" I looked at the empty table in front of her.

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand her expression—it looked like she was enjoying some private joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

She was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I promised.

She waited, still guarded but clearly curious.

"Could you warn me beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"That sounds fair." She was pressing her lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

"Thanks."

"Then can I have a favor in return?" she asked.

"Sure." It was my turn to be curious. What would she want from me?

"Tell me one theory."

Whoops. "Not that favor."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one favor," she reminded me.

"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded her back.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.

She looked down, and then glanced up at me through her long black lashes, her gold eyes scorching.

"Please?" she breathed, leaning toward me. Without meaning to, I leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was trapped in her pull, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went blank. Holy crow, how did she do that?

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed. I forced myself to sit back.

"Tell me just one little theory." She practically purred the words. "Please?" Her eyes still smoldered at me.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

"That's not very creative," she scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.

"You're not even close," she teased.

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Dang," I sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," she chuckled.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

She struggled to compose her face, but her shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned her.

Her humor vanished like a switch had flipped off. "I wish you wouldn't try."

"Because…?"

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" She smiled playfully, but her eyes were impenetrable.

"Oh," I said, as several things she'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"Do you?" Her face was abruptly severe, as if she were afraid that she'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. Sgewas dangerous. She'd been trying to tell me that all along. She just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"But not the bad guy," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost inaudible. She looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between her fingers. I stared at her, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. She meant what she was saying—that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near her.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet, and she looked up. She seemed… sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction she'd been waiting for.

"We're going to be late," I told her, scrambling to gather my things.

She was surprised for just a second, and then the now-familiar amusement was back.

"I'm not going to class today," she said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." She smiled up at me, but her eyes were still troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told her. Maybe if she asked me to ditch with her… No, that was stupid and irresponsible to ditch class for a girl.

She turned her attention back to her makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door—with a last glance confirming that she hadn't moved at all, and the lid was still spinning in a tight circle like it would never stop.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning just as fast. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised.

I was lucky; Mrs. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Makayla and Allen were staring at me. Makayla looked resentful; Allen looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mrs. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. She was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in her arms. She put them down on Makayla's table, telling her to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," she said as she produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of her lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against her wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," she went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator—" she held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." She held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." She began at Makayla's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…" She grabbed Makayla's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Makayla's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead and my ears began a faint ringing.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." She demonstrated, squeezing Makayla's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

"And then apply it to the card," she finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the humming in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." She sounded proud of herself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."

She continued through the room with her water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on as everything seemed to get farther away, slithering down a dark tunnel. The squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers all sounded far off in the distance. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Beau, are you all right?" Mrs. Banner asked. Her voice was close to my head, but still far away, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mrs. Banner. I'm O negative." I said in a weak voice. I couldn't open my eyes.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone help Beau to the nurse, please?" She called. I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Makayla who volunteered.

"Can you walk?" Mrs. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered.Just let me get out of here, I thought.I'll crawl.

Makayla seemed eager as she put her arm around my waist and pulled my arm over her shoulder. I leaned against her heavily on the way out of the classroom.

Makayla towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mrs. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged. She helped me sit on the edge of the walk. "And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Beau," Makayla said nervously.

"Just gimme… a minute…"

"Beau?" a different voice called from the distance.

Oh, please no. Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong—is he hurt?" Her voice was closer now, and she sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if maybe I would die. That would be nice right now. If not that, at the very least, to not to throw up would be great.

Makayla seemed stressed. "I think he fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

"Beau." Edythe's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "Go away."

She chuckled.

"I was taking him to the nurse," Makayla explained in a defensive tone, "but he wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take him," Edythe said. I could hear the smile still in her voice. "You can go back to class."

"What? No," Makayla protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

Suddenly the sidewalk halfway disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edythe had scooped me up against her, like I weighed nothing at all. Then again, I didn't weigh as much as a van.

"I'm fine, I swear. let me sit." Please, please let me not vomit on her. She was walking before I was finished talking.

"Hey!" Makayla called, already ten paces behind us. Edythe ignored her.

"You look awful," she told me, grinning.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I groaned. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

She simply looked forward, smiling. I'd never leaned as close to someone before, it felt strange. Despite my nausea, I felt a strange tingling sensation running down my back and limbs. Being this close to Edythe, touching her wasn't something I was remotely prepared for in this moment.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" she asked. This seemed to entertain her.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. The nausea was already fading.

"And not even your own blood," she continued, enjoying herself. I don't know how she opened the door while leaning me against her, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"Oh my," I heard a male voice gasp.

"He fainted in Biology," Edythe explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edythe was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Mr. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of her to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edythe dragged me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then she moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. Her eyes were bright, excited.

"He's just a little faint," she reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

She muffled a snicker.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was mostly gone.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Edythe coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told her.

"I'm supposed to stay with him." She said this with such assured authority that—even though she pursed her lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your head, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditchingis healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," she admitted after a pause. Her tone made it sound like she was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Hilarious." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"That's morbid."

She chuckled.

"Poor Makayla. I'll bet she's mad."

"She absolutely loathes me," Edythe said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered…

"You should have seen her face. It was obvious."

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was pretty much fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Mr. Cope stuck his head in.

"We've got another one," he warned.

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Makayla staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edythe and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Edythe muttered. "Go out to the office, Beau."

I looked up at her, bewildered.

"Trust me—go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, floundering out of the infirmary. I could feel Edythe right behind me.

"You actually listened to me." She said, surprised.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"People can't smell blood," she contradicted.

"Yeah, I can."

"No. Humans can smell the iron in blood, but only when it's rubbed against skin or sometimes when there are large amounts or it's dried." The way she saidhumans, like they were a different species from herself was strange. "Either way, you shouldn't be able to smell a pinprick of fresh blood."

"Well, I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

She was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Makayla came through the door then, glancing from me to Edythe. The look she gave Edythe confirmed what Edythe had said about loathing. She looked back at me, her eyes glum.

"Youlook better," she accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned her again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she muttered. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess.… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While she spoke, she flashed another glare toward Edythe, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." Her eyes flickered to Edythe again, wondering if she was giving out too much information. Her body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," she said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"Yeah, see you," I replied. She looked at me once more, her round face slightly pouting, and then as she walked slowly through the door, her shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I didn'twant to hurt her feelings, but it seemed like it just kept happening. I pondered seeing her disappointed face again… in Gym.

"Gym," I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edythe moving to my side, but she spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," she muttered.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting always exhausted me.

I heard Edythe speaking softly at the counter.

"Mr. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard him return to his desk.

"Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?" Her voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming her eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edythe?" Mr. Cope fluttered.

Why couldn't I do that?

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau," he called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want to lean against me again?" With her back to the receptionist, her expression became sarcastic.

"I'll walk." I stood carefully, and I was still fine.

She held the door for me, her smile polite but her eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice—the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Thanks," I said as she followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"Anytime." She was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping she would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture her loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; she didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that she might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going, exactly?" She was still looking ahead, expressionless, but her question made me hope she was considering it.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

I studied her face, trying to read it. Her eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally. She glanced up at me from the corner of her eye, smiling wryly.

"I really don't think I was invited."

I sighed. "I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not push poor Makayla any further this week. We don't want her to snap." Her eyes danced; she was enjoying the idea more than she should.

"Makayla-schmakayla," I muttered, preoccupied by the way she'd saidyou and I. I liked it more thanI should.

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket and yanked me back half a step.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, surprised. She was gripping a fistful my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" She smirked.

"What condition?" I complained.

"You've had quite the day, Beau." She smiled.

"Okay, so what do you suggest?"

Her smile got wider, "I suggest that you get into my car, and you let me drive you home."

"Okay, first of all that's not necessary, and second, what about my truck?"

"Necessary is a subjective word. I'll have Archie drop it off after school."

I turned to face her, and she let go of my jacket. Looking down into her smug, gorgeous face I felt that strange tingling run down my back again.

"Are you going to put up a fuss?" she asked when I didn't speak.

"Is there any point in resisting?"

I tried to decipher all the layers to her smile, but I didn't get very far. "It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."

"You're not cute." I narrowed my eyes. This was a lie, she was cute. Very cute. She laughed.

"It's open," she grinned as we reached the shiny Volvo. She got in the driver's side.

"I really am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I put up one last feeble attempt.

She lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Beau."

I didn't move. She sighed.

"Please, Beau?"

"This is really is unnecessary," I sighed as I climbed into the passenger seat. She smiled widely.

The inside of the Volvo was just as pristine as the outside. Instead of the smell of gasoline and tobacco, there was just a faint pleasant smell. Like a delicate, expensive perfume. It was almost familiar, but I couldn't place it. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.

As the engine gently purred to life, she fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down

"Clair de Lune?" I asked.

"You know Debussy?" She sounded surprised.

I shrugged. "My mother played a lot of classical music around the house—I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." She stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

"Well, imagine that," I said. "We have something in common."

She didn't say anything, but she was smiling.

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What is your mother like?" she asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see her studying me with her curious, butterscotch eyes.

"She looks a lot like me—same eyes, same chin. I have Charlie's brown hair, though. My mom is more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me sad.

"How old are you, Beau?" Her voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. She'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen."Her tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" she asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.

She made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised she would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me, but would anyone ever be good enough for my mom?

"Do you approve?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous.… I wonder," she mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" She was suddenly intent, her eyes searching mine.

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," she teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?" But she ignored my question and asked me another.

"Do you think thatIcould be scary?" She raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened her face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think youcouldbe, if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and her heavenly face was suddenly serious.

"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract her. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

She was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carine and Earnest have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way she spoke of them.

"Yes." She smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "My brother and sister, and Jessamine and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."

I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." She grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

She laughed, and there was an edge to her laughter.

"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." She glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Eleanor and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier.

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled her, though. A smile was playing around the edges of her lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" She turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of her burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" She smiled crookedly.

The helplessness had faded as she spoke. I glared at her.

"I'll see what I can do," I narrowed my eyes. She smirked.

I jumped out into the rain and ran for the porch. By the time I turned around, the Volvo had disappeared.

"Oh!" I clutched at my jacket pocket, remembering that I had forgotten to give her the key to my truck.

The pocket was empty.


	6. scary stories

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act ofMacbeth, I was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, even over the pouring rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain—again—it was suddenly there.

I wasn't looking forward to waking up on Friday, and it more than lived up to mynegative expectations. Of course, there were the fainting comments. Jeremy especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Makayla had kept her mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Edythe's involvement. He did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.

"So what did Edythe Cullen want yesterday?" Jeremy asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "She never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of anxious," he finished.

"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen her sit with anyone but her family before. That was weird."

"Weird," I agreed

He seemed disappointed; he rubbed his hair emphatically—I guessed he'd been hoping to hear something exciting.

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew she wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jeremy and Makayla, I couldn't keep from looking at her table, where Royal, Archie, and Jessamine sat talking, heads close together. I wondered how Archie felt about having to drive my truck home last night.

At my usual table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. Makayla was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow. I'd have to see that before I believed it. But it was warmer today—almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be completely miserable.

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from a boy with silver blond hair who I didn't know, which I didn't understand until I was walking out of the room. I was right behind him and he was talking animatedly to a girl who also had sleek, silver blond hair, who I realized was Lauren.

"…don't know whyBeaufort"—he sneered my name—"doesn't just sit with the Cullens from now on," the boy was muttering to Lauren in a nasal, malicious voice. Lauren's body language seemed to indicate she was put out.

"He's our friend; he sits with us," Lauren whispered back kindly.

I paused to let Jeremy and Allen pass me. I didn't want to hear anymore.

That night at dinner, Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Edythe Cullen. Not that I was going to mention it.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think it's south of Mount Rainier," I asked casually.

"Yeah—why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."

"Oh." I murmured. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

I meant to sleep in, but the light woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn't believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn't seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I left the blue would disappear again.

The Newtons' Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store, but I'd never stopped there—not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Makayla's Suburban and Taylor's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around in front of the Suburban. Erica was there, along with two others I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Becca and Conner. Jeremy was there, flanked by Allen and Lauren. Two other girls stood with them, as well as the boy who had been whispering to Lauren in the cafeteria. He gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and tried to whisper something to Lauren, she shook out her beautiful hair and tried to ignore him.

So it was going to be one ofthosedays.

At least Makayla was happy to see me.

"You came!" she called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today, didn't I?"

"I told you I was coming," I reminded her.

"We're just waiting for Lee and Samantha… unless you invited someone," Makayla added.

"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the lie. But also wishing that Edythe would just show up out of nowhere like she always seemed to do.

Makayla look satisfied, anyway.

"Will you ride in my car? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."

"Sure."

She smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Makayla happy.

"You can have shotgun," she promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn't as simple to make Makayla and Jeremy happy at the same time. I could see Jeremy looking at us with a strange, confused look. At this point I had decided that Makayla might like both meandJeremy but, like a puppy, she could only focus on one of us at a time.

The numbers worked out in my favor, though. Lee brought two extra people, and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Jeremy in between Makayla and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Makayla could have been more graceful about it, but at least Jeremy seemed elated.

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath is twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd rolled the windows down—the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it—and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.

I'd been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky.

We picked our way down to the beach, Makayla leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Erica and the girl I thought was named Becca gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction build atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Makayla asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; the other girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me. Makayla kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.

"No," I said as she placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this then—watch the colors." She lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

"It's blue," I laughed in surprise.

"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" She lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Jeremy was on her other side. He turned to her and claimed her attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.

After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Edythe's request—that I not fall into the ocean.

Lauren's mean friend, who I found out was her twin brother, Logan, made the decision for me. He didn't want to hike, and he was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Lauren sighed and dutifully stayed behind with her brother. Most of the other boys besides Allen and Jeremy decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Taylor and Erica had committed to remaining with them before I got up to join the pro-hiking group. Makayla gave me a huge smile when she saw I was coming.

The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was a low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way out to the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life.

I was very careful not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered what Edythe was doing now, and trying to imagine what she would be saying if she were here with me.

Finally, the boys were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer we could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation come to socialize. The food was already being passed around, and the boys hurried to claim a share while Erica introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle. Allen and I were the last to arrive, and, as Erica said our names, I noticed a younger boy sitting on the stones near the fire glance up at me in interest. I sat down next to Allen, and Makayla brought us sandwiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the boys was also named Jeremy, and the boy who noticed me was named Jacob.

It was relaxing to sit with Allen; he was a restful kind of person to be around—he didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. He left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, castling long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface.

Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Makayla—with Jeremy shadowing her—headed up to the single shop in the nearby village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all scattered, I was alone on my driftwood log, with Lauren and Taylor who were great friends occupyied themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, while Logan scowled and sulked nearby, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the boy named Jacob and the oldest boy who had acted as spokesperson.

A few minutes after Allen left with the hikers, Jacob sauntered over to take his place by my side. He looked to be about fifteen, or maybe a young sixteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. Altogether, a very pretty face. However, I still grimaced at the first words that came out of his mouth.

"You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Beau," I sighed, but I smiled.

"Right," He said, like he'd already known that. "I'm Jacob Black." He held out his hand. "You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh… Oh!" I felt relieved, shaking his sleek hand. "You're Bonnie's son. I probably should remember you. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the youngest of the family—you would remember my older sisters."

"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Bonnie thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven.

"Rachel and Rebecca and… Jake, wasn't it?"

He smiled. "You do remember that. No one's called me that since my sisters left."

"They aren't here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

"No." Jacob shook his head. "Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer—she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

"So how do you like the truck?" he asked.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," he laughed. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My mom wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected.

"Have you tried to go over sixty?"

"Well, no." I admitted.

"Good. Don't." He grinned again.

I couldn't help grinning back.

"It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," He agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he added jokingly. He had a pleasant, husky voice.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." As if I knew what that was. He was very easy to talk with.

He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Beaufort, Jacob?" Logan asked—in what I imagined was an insolent tone—from across the fire.

"Beau and I have sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at me again.

"That's really nice.Isn't it, Logan?" Lauren narrowed her pale green eyes at Logan, who huffed.

Jacob raised his eyebrows at Logan's reaction. "Yes, isn't it wonderful?"

His sarcasm seemed to throw Logan off, but he wasn't done with me yet. "Beau, I was just thinking that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't you think to invite them?" His expression of concern was unconvincing.

"I… I mean…" I looked around to make sure Makayla wasn't nearby, "I did invite Edythe, but she couldn't come." I said quietly.

"I think it's nice that he invited Edythe," Lauren offered kindly. "No one really talks to the Cullens."

"You're talking about Dr. Carine Cullen's family?" the tall, older boy asked. He was really closer to a man than a boy, his hair was cut short, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?" Lauren smiled faintly, I could tell she found him a bit intimidating. I did too.

"The Cullens don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question.

Taylor, trying to win back Lauren's attention, asked her opinion of the CD she held. Logan went back to scowling and huffing.

I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He'd said that the Cullens didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more—that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

Jacob interrupted my meditation. "So is Forks driving you insane yet?"

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I chuckled darkly.

He grinned sympathetically.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens and piecing it together with what I'd read from Edythe's reactions the other day. I looked at Jacob, speculating.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you want to walk down the beach with me?"

He looked at Logan, then back to me and grinned widely, "Yeah, let's get out of here."

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. I eyed the sweet-natured boy walking alongside me. Jake just had on a long-sleeved t-shirt, but he swung his arms as he walked, not bothered by the cold. The wind whipped his silky black hair into twists and knots on his back. There was something very warm and open about his face.

"Nice friends," he commented when were far enough from the fire that the clattering of the stones beneath our feet was more than enough to drown out our voices.

"Not mine."

He laughed, "I could tell."

"So you're, what, seventeen?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"I just turned sixteen." He confessed, flattered.

"You're a year younger than me?"

"I'm tall for my age," he explained.

"I'm surprised we didn't hang out more when we were younger." I offered, he grinned. "Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked.

"Not too much," he admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want—I just got my license." He said proudly.

"That's great," I smiled, "hey can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Who was that other boy Lauren and Logan were talking to? He seemed way older than the rest of us.

"Oh, that's Sam—he's nineteen," he informed me.

"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked casually.

"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in Sam's voice.

"Why not?"

He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

"Is it a secret?"

He pursed his lips. "Sort of."

"I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I instinctively moved closer to him without meaning to. Something about his personality was warm and inviting. It was even magnetic, but in a different way from Edythe.

He smiled at me, he seemed pleased that I had moved so close. Then he lifted one eyebrow and leaned in even closer to me, his voice was even huskier than before.

"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.

For one second, I could hear Edythe's voice clearly in my head.Do you think I could be scary?

"How scary are we talking here?"

"You'll never sleep again," he promised.

"Well, now I have to hear it." I realized we were still standing incredibly close, but I didn't really mind. Something about it felt right.

Jacob smirked, then strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile was hovering around the edges of his full lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good.

"Do you know any of our tribe legends, about where we came from—the Quileutes, I mean?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, the legends talk about Ka'wa'iti who created the first Quileutes by transforming wolves into humans. He taught them how to be human and become a powerful tribe."

"Wolves? That's actually really cool." I smiled. "Not really scary, though."

"Yeah," he smiled, "The scary story isn't actually a Quileute legend. It's more of a folk story some of the elders tell. Stories about thecold ones." His voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, deeply intrigued at this point.

"Yes. Some of the stories I hear are old stories, going back to the first Quileutes, and some are much more recent. If you believe the stories, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?"

"He was a tribal elder, like my mother. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him intently, realizing I was totally enthralled by him and his story.

"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So, my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why…?" I tried to understand, I hoped he couldn't tell how seriously I took his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are thesameones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carine. She'd been here and gone beforeyourpeople had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "Whatarethe cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face was giving away.

Do you think I could be scary?Edythe's voice repeated in my head.

"You have goose bumps," Jacob laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the waves.

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my mom doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at him yet. "Don't worry, I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated the treaty," he laughed.

"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my mom when he heard some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

"I won't say anything to Charlie, of course not."

"So, do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" he asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.

"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm and pulled back my jacket sleeve to show him.

"Cool." He smiled.

I involuntarily shivered, I wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the story, but Jacob approached and rubbed my arms to warm me up.

"You ok?" He was still smiling.

"Yeah," I looked up at his warm face and smiled, "Yeah I'm great."

He grinned, that warm grin I already liked so much. His grin warmed me from the inside out.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Makayla and Jeremy about fifty yards away, walking toward us.

"There you are, Beau," Makayla called in relief, waving her arm over her head.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Jacob asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Makayla's voice. I was surprised he asked so frankly.

"No, definitely not," I whispered. I didn't know if it was because we'd known each other longer, if not well, or if it was because Jake was so easygoing, but I already felt more comfortable with him than I did with any of the kids I'd be riding home with. I winked at him, carefully turning away from Makayla to do so. He smiled, absolutely elated.

"So when I get my car finished…" he began.

"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." As I said it, I knew that I truly meant it. I really did like Jacob and I wanted to see more of him. I felt strangely confused for some reason.

Makayla had reached us now, with Jeremy still a few paces back. I could see her eyes appraising Jacob, narrowing slightly. She looked like a puppy when it couldn't tell if something was a friend or a foe.

"Where have you been?" she asked, though the answer was right in front of her.

"Jacob was just telling me some local stories," I replied. "It was really interesting."

I smiled at Jacob warmly, and he grinned back, filling me with that warmth that radiated from his aura.

"Well," Makayla paused, carefully reassessing the situation as she watched our camaraderie. "We're packing up—it looks like it's going to rain soon."

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did look like rain.

"Okay." I stood up slowly, "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see youagain," Jacob said, and I could tell he was taunting Makayla just a bit.

"It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see Bonnie, I'll come, too," I promised with a smile.

His grin stretched across his face. "That would be cool."

"And thank you," I added earnestly.

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got the Suburban the others were already loading everything into the back. I crawled into the backseat by Allen and Taylor, announcing that I'd already had my turn in the shotgun position. Allen just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and Lauren was turned around in the middle seat talking animatedly with Taylor, so I could simply lay my head back on the seat and close my eyes and try very hard not to think.


End file.
